


rust and bone

by Oparu



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 13:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12913074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oparu/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: post-Orientation, Phil looks after Melinda's injuries and he finally confesses the kiss.





	rust and bone

**Author's Note:**

> total hurt comfort fluff, as I adore them

It’s not a question or discussion that they’ll room together. Elena goes with Mack, Daisy’s still not back from recon with Deke, she’ll sort that out. Get through to him that they need him. That humanity is the furthest thing from a lost cause.

Melinda’s fine. She’s always fine, always tough, and her color’s good, but she allows his hand to remain on the small of her back, lets him guide her to the pile of blankets that is their bed. He only just got her back from the framework, got her some time to rest before they were here. Space, in the future, where he needs her to save the world.

They have a hole in the wall compartment, no window, barely a bed, but the blankets seem clean and there’s a little water. He’ll feel better about that when he’s heated it up, made sure it’s sterile before he checks her wound. She bandaged it up okay, stopped the bleeding, but then she saved them and it’s open again beneath the bandage. Blood smells fresh, like copper.

“I’m going to get a heater, blow torch, something to boil the water, okay?”

May nods at him, shutting her eyes. She might be asleep when he returns, but she needs it.

* * *

 

The door creaks, she tenses, dragging herself up to fight, or flee, whatever they need, but it’s Phil. That leather jacket-saving soap scent is him. The way his moves is familiar, safe.

The blowtorch hisses, heating the water he was so worried about. She keeps her eyes closed, saving her energy. When he needs her awake, he’ll touch her. Phil’s hand brushes her shoulder, then he touches her cheek. Too gentle. He missed her more than he’s said. Something happened, more than betrayal by the LMD with her face, he’s almost too soft when he touches her.

“I think I can save your pants, come up with some kind of patch. Got some spare cloth, and some rags, should be able to fix it up. Provided you’re awake.”

“I’m awake. I slept enough in the framework.” Her other life was full of quiet duty to evil, serving Hydra. That she needs to forget. She opens her eyes to his smiling face.

“Good, I’d hate to take away your beauty rest.”

“You need that more than I.”

He chuckles. “I definitely do.” Phil’s hands drop to her thigh, while he checks around the wound. “We’re going to have to get you out of these pants.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Without whiskey?”

“I know, I know, I should have saved it.” Phil chuckles again, reaching for her belt. He meets her eyes, and she nods, shifting her hips to make it easier. Delicately, he slips her trousers down over her hips. Around the wound, the fabric sticks to her leg, held by dried blood.

“You could do it quick.”

“You say that–” He lets that hang in the air, while they stare at each other. She nods, and he tugs, the flash of pain is over in a moment. It hurts more watching him wince. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

“Hey, that was the easy part.”

She raises her hands, resting them on his shoulders, so he can work. “So which first aid are you using? SHIELD’s or the one you remember from being a high school teacher?”

“Very funny.”

“You still know how to make soap?”

“That might come in handy, by the smell, there’s not much here.”

Hot water brushes against her leg, and he wipes dried blood away. Around the edges, his hands move slower, and she slows her breathing, readying herself. She wants to tense but she knows better.

“Edges are clean.”

“Just a pipe.”

“Good.”

“Through and through.”

His fingers shuffle along her skin, checking the back of her thigh, wiping away the fresh blood when the motion cracks the scab.

She leans closer, forehead on his neck. There’s something incredibly intimate about this, sharing air, breathing together. His hands wind around her skin, wrapping the bandage tight. He smells of copper, leather and soap. Something underneath is sweeter, more dangerous.

“Should heal.”

“I always do.”

Phil holds her face again, meeting her eyes. “You do.” His forehead brushes against hers, warm and dry.

The other her didn’t try to kill him, that wouldn’t have shaken him like this. They’ve faced that before, built back that trust.

“She didn’t try to kill you.”

He nods, and looks away before he can look at her again.

The silent confession hangs in the air, heavier than the scent of blood.

“She kissed–”

Melinda ends that thought before he finishes the syllable, kissing him hard and deep. When they’re both lost for air, lips burning, they break.

“Like that?”

He smiles, flushed and content. “Not like that.”

“That’s how I’d kiss you, Phil.”

“Good to know.”

“For future reference.”

He curls beside her, warm beneath the blankets. “So I know next time.”

“So it’s really me you share the next bottle with.”

Phil leans close, his mouth touches hers like a promise. “I’d like that.”


End file.
